Wrong Heaven
by Laurie Bunter
Summary: Vignettes featuring the secrets of Byakuya Kuchiki, and his thoughts on love, life, death, and the whole cosmic enchilada. Byakuya x Hisana main pairing
1. It's not a matter for my tombstone

_Two belated vignettes for Byakuya's birthday._

_Disclaimer: Kubo Tite is the creator of Bleach._

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**Wrong Heaven**

by Laurie Bunter

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"_**It's not a matter for my tombstone."**_

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Byakuya traced the chiseled letters, well pleased. The smooth obsidian was like a huge mirror that reflected a dim image of himself in its inky depths. The small markings broke the perfect surface, making the letters flicker in the sunlight. There was just enough space for a name and a date.

"It will do," he said, giving his approval. "Send the bill to the Kuchiki mansion and you will be compensated well. If you give your name to my vice-captain, other orders from Sereitei will follow." A ghost of a smile graced the corners of his mouth. "Ukitake should be most interested."

The old man was astonished. "My lord, you do me honor, but…" he shuffled his feet, and coughed. How was he supposed to broach this topic? One did not go around denying any Shinigami of his work, but really, these customers that descended upon his shabby workshop were unexpected.

The captain of the sixth eyed the aging artisan warily. "I will not haggle with you if you seek to put up the price due to my rank," he reminded the man. "I pay well for quality work, but I have no patience for fools who seek to fleece me."

"It's not that, sir," the old man insisted. Looking at the vice-captain at the captain's elbow – who vaguely resembled a red-headed riffraff that used to run wild in the district – the old man took courage. Perhaps the proud captain would understand since he had to work with men from Rukongai. "This marker was not made for you. We in Rukongai believe it's bad luck, sir, to pick out your own headstone. Besides…" he faltered. Withholding the truth from such a piercing gaze was not possible. "This is not for sale. I made this for myself."

Byakuya was silent. He could feel his vice-captain fidgeting in the background, still trying to fix his broken sandal strap that stopped them from shunpoing back to the division barracks. Byakuya would not have waited for Abrarai if the gleam of jet black on the ground had not teased his eyes into a full stop. He could sense the garble of apologies that were caught between his subordinate's lips and throat.

Abrarai wouldn't dare apologize for being the unwitting cause of this awkward situation, not in front of him. But he sure was thinking it.

Byakuya himself wondered what was the best course of action, to save face for them all. He disliked the idea of having this artisan beg to keep his own work. He knew about the grumbling against the nobility in these outskirts, and such a small incident will make a great deal of talk. He already read the reports of the mobile secret force, of certain disgruntled souls in Rukongai who wished to support the traitors if they could offer a better life than the one they already had. As if Hueco Mundo would be any kinder than Soul Society to those without spiritual power, but…

_Fools,_ Byakuya thought. _In the end, there is only death and the cycle. _

It was several moments before Byakuya spoke with a tone of reluctant rebuke. "It is strange of you to lecture me on the nature of bad luck, old man, seeing as you wish to incur some of it by the completion of this masterpiece. I suppose you are trying to court your own death by making this." The old man swallowed and stopped himself from agreeing.

Byakuya then drove it home, making an offer no one in his right mind would refuse. "Let me give you something to live for. If you last long enough to finish a second piece, a twin to this one, I will be willing to pay handsomely for the cost of both. There should be no greater honor, knowing that your own marker will mirror that of the head of the Kuchiki clan."

The old man was astonished. The captain's face gave nothing away and his tone was just as haughty, but his mouth seemed to soften with the last words.

_No,_ the old man decided, _perhaps my eyesight is fading as well._ "It is very generous of you, sir. I'm near the end of my days here and I always fancied myself lying in a rich man's grave. Yet this was my only piece of pure black obsidian. Would my lord be happy with one that is flecked with white? It is called snowflake obsidian, and is sought after by ladies of high birth."

Byakuya nodded. The old man could not have known that he wanted this to grace his courtyard, where a lady of common birth already rested near the shade of her favorite cherry blossom tree.

"That will do, old man, as long as the level of workmanship is the same. We will be hearing from you."

"My lord? And the epigraph?"

"A parting poem?" Byakuya swallowed his smile, as if remembering a private joke not meant to be shared with anyone. "Why insist?"

He then turned and walked away.

Byakuya was happy to dispense with the other formalities that might have been said. Let Abrarai deal with the nitty-gritty details and any drivel of gratitude. Suddenly Byakuya no longer felt in the mood for social discourse. As soon as he was far enough from any stray souls, Byakuya kicked up his speed and flash stepped it back to the division headquarters.

As the dust of Rukongai receded to make way for the clean cobblestones of Seireitei, it occurred to Byakuya it was not the first time he didn't get exactly what he wanted, anyway.

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_Author's Note:_

Byakuya's a snob. He quoted a real death poem:

Life's as we

Find it – death too.

A parting poem?

Why insist?

- Daie-Soko (1089-1163) in _The Penguin Book of Zen Poetry_


	2. She isn't one of your kind

"_**She isn't one of your kind."**_

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The moment he laid eyes on her he knew those words would come to haunt him again.

His family said it often enough when they first met Hisana. It irked him. _Damn it,_ Byakuya remembered his younger self thinking irritably. _If I wanted to love someone of my own kind, I would buy a mirror, to better gaze upon myself. _

He had taken care to array himself in his finest that morning, just in case she was the spitting image of his wife. He wanted… he didn't know what he wanted, but at least the clothes and the heirloom necklace and the kenseikan would dazzle her sight and confuse her momentarily. She would be unable to refuse an offer that was both audacious and condescending in its presumptions.

He had done exactly the same with Hisana, after all. He almost rendered her blind with all the shiny courtship gifts. Byakuya had weakened her good senses with all the glamor that could tempt the eye. When Hisana realized the extent of the strings attached to his hand, it was too late. They had already eloped.

Rukia was waiting in one of the instructor's private sitting rooms, kindly lent to them for the occasion. The Kuchiki elders filed in, one by one, all of them coolly appraising her for her appearance alone. For that was supposed to be the basis for her adoption: her likeness to the Lady Hisana.

The girl Rukia was dwarfed by her uniform, the scarlet accents a striking contrast to her pale cheeks. Her eyes were downcast as if she was troubled and wished to keep it a secret.

Byakuya knew that look well. His wife would sometimes keep her back turned towards him, as she watched the dusk descend upon the mansion. He knew that while she was content – her reiatsu told him that much – her heart was too big to love him alone. Hisana yearned for the sister she had given up. Hisana needed to find her in order to fill that empty space.

And that's exactly why he was here now: to fill the void.

Rukia had Hisana's look upon her now, as Ginrei and the others detailed the plans for her adoption, and all that she would receive in return. All she had to do was utter one single word: yes.

A young man had interrupted their conference – a sturdy youth with loud hair and noisy tattoos. Byakuya led the way out, leaving them alone for a moment. It was best the girl Rukia had the semblance of a choice in the matter.

Yet Byakuya made it a point to brush past the young man, and let him be unnerved by the soft texture of his rich clothing, if not the hint of his heavy reiatsu. He would make this person know exactly who was claiming Rukia for life.

_You will let go of her. She will now belong to me. _

Byakuya thought he was subtle about it until the doors closed and he glimpsed the expression on her face. It was then he noticed that Rukia's frail beauty only disguised the penetrating nature of her glance.

Byakuya felt doubt creep into his soul. He was in perilous danger. If she ever got to know him like Hisana did, all his defenses would fall and he would be lost to emotion – honor-destroying emotion – once more.

Rukia sent word at once. From then on, all was empty pomp and ceremony. She became a Kuchiki, and he made sure almost all evidence of her real last name was erased. Everything went according to his master plan.

And he kept his honor within easy reach.

Yet Byakuya would avoid looking her in the eye for the next fifty years. He told himself it was just a precautionary measure. Just like her sister, Rukia saw too much.

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Reviews are sweet.


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